Potter, Black, and Lupin Book One
by GryffindorLover1597
Summary: So what would happen if Voldemort had a daughter with Dumbledore's daughter, Deliverance? What if Voldemort's daughter married Sirius Black? What if instead of Harry just having the scar, Voldemort's granddaughter, Ariana Black, had one too? Follow the story of these two through their years at Hogwarts. Sorry, I'm not that great at summaries, but I hope you still R&R. :)
1. The Children Who Lived

**Disclaimer: sadly, I don't own Harry Potter as I am not J.K. Rowling; but I do own Elise Black and her daughter Ariana**

Chapter 1 The Children Who Lived

A man appeared on the corner a cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.

Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again—the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of the window now, even beady-eyes Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no—even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls…shooting stars.… Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent—I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors."

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really _has_ gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A _what_?"

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who _has_ gone—"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense—for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: _Voldemort."_ Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."

"I know you haven't," said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, _Voldemort,_ was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had power I will never have."

"Only because you're too—well—_noble_ to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing next to the _rumors_ that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer.

"What they're _saying,_" she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. Elise just happened to be there with her daughter. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter and Elise Black are—are—that they're—_dead._"

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily, James, and Elise…I can't believe it…I didn't want to believe it… Oh Albus…"

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know…I know…" he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's son, Harry, and the Black's daughter, Ariana. But—he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy and girl. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter or Ariana Black, Voldemort's power somehow broke—and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's—it's _true_?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done…all the people he's killed…he couldn't kill a little boy and girl? It's just astounding…of all the things to stop him…but how in the name of heaven did Harry and Ariana survive?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch out of his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me _why_ you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Ariana and Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now. And with what has happened to Sirius, Ariana has nowhere else to go."

"You don't mean—you _can't_ mean the people who live _here_?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore—you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son—I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter and Ariana Black come and live here! Ariana is your great-granddaughter. Surely she could come and live with you."

"It's the best place for them," said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to them when they're older. I've written them a letter. I feel that Ariana should stay with Harry until I explain later on in the future."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand them! They'll be famous—a legend—I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter and Ariana Black day in the future—there will be books written about Ariana and Harry—every child in our world will know their names!"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any child's head. Famous before they can walk and talk! Famous for something they won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off they'll be, growing up away from all that until they're ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes—yes, you're right, of course. But how are the boy and girl getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Harry and Ariana underneath it.

"Hagrid's bringing them."

"You think it—_wise_—to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to—what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky—and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed in front of them.

If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so _wild_—long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got them, sir."

"No problems, were there?"

"No, sir—house was almost destroyed, but I got them out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. They fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy and girl, fast asleep. Under tufts of jet-black and auburn hair over their foreheads they could see two curiously shaped cuts, like a bolt of lightning.

"Is that where—?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "They'll have those scars forever."

"Couldn't you do something about, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well—give them here, Hagrid—we'd better get this over with."

Dumbledore took Harry and Ariana in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house.

"Could I—could I say good-bye to them, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and Ariana and gave them what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "you'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it—Elise, Lily, an' James dead—an' poor little Harry and Ariana off ter live with Muggles—"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harry and Ariana gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundles; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night Professor McGonagall—Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundles of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Harry and Ariana," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter and Ariana Black rolled over inside their blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside Harry and he slept on, both not knowing they were special, not knowing they were famous, not knowing they would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that they would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by Harry's cousin Dudley.…He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter and Ariana Black—the children who lived!"


	2. The Vanishing Glass

Chapter 2 The Vanishing Glass

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken to find their nephew and Ariana Black on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the brass number four on the Dursleys' front door; it crept into their living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mr. Dursley had seen that fateful news report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-colored bonnets—but Dudley Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a carousel at the fair, playing a computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother. The room held no sign at all that another boy and girl lived in the house, too.

Yet Harry Potter and Ariana Black were still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. Harry's Aunt Petunia was awake and it was her shrill voice that made the first noise of the day.

"Up! Get up! Now!"

Harry woke up with a start. His aunt rapped on the door again.

"Up!" she screeched. Harry heard her walking toward the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the stove. He rolled onto his back and tried to remember the dream he had been having. It had been a good one. There had been a flying motorcycle in it. He had a funny feeling he'd had the same dream before.

His aunt was back outside the door.

"Are you up yet?" she demanded.

"Nearly," said Harry.

"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday."

Harry groaned.

"What did you say?" his aunt snapped through the door.

"Nothing, nothing…"

"He said, 'Uggggggghhhhhhhh,'" Ariana Black said from her place beside Harry.

"Don't take the sass with me," Petunia snapped.

Dudley's birthday—how could he have forgotten? Harry got slowly out of bed and started looking for socks. Ariana did the same. Harry found a pair under his bed and, after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. Ariana took a pair from under her pillow and was lucky to not have spiders on them. Harry and Ariana were used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where they slept.

When they were dressed they went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath all Dudley's birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Ariana and Harry, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise—unless of course it involved punching somebody. Dudley's favorite punching bag was Harry, but he often couldn't catch him. Harry didn't look it, but he was very fast. Dudley didn't bother to punch Ariana because he was too intimidated by her though he was four times larger than her.

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Harry had always been small and skinny for his age. He looked even smaller and skinnier than he really was because all he and Ariana had to wear were old clothes of Dudley's, and Dudley was about four times bigger than they were.

Harry had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair, and bright green eyes. He wore round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because of all the times Dudley had punched him on the nose. Ariana was tall for her age, had a thin face as well, auburn hair that reached the middle of her back, and stormy gray eyes.

The only thing they liked about their appearances was the very thin scars on their foreheads that were shaped like a bolt of lightning. They had had them for as long as they could remember, and the first question they could ever remember asking Harry's Aunt Petunia was how they had gotten them.

"In the car crash when your parents died," she had said. "Your mother died in the same crash as the boy's and your father is in prison. And don't ask questions."

_Don't ask questions_—that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys.

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Harry was turning over the bacon and Ariana was getting the toast ready.

"Comb your hair!" he backed, by the way of morning greeting. Ariana sniggered at the thought of trying to get Harry's hair to stay down.

About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Harry needed a haircut. Harry must have had more haircuts than the rest of the boys in his class but together, but it made no difference, his hair simply grew that way—all over the place.

Harry was frying the eggs and Ariana was making the pancakes by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel—Harry often said that Dudley looked like a pig in a wig.

Of course Ariana told Harry that was insulting pigs and that Dudley was more like a baby whale than a pig.

Harry put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn't much room. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell.

"Thirty-six," he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's two less than last year."

"Yet it's still thirty-six more than I got for my last birthday," Ariana said as she placed the pancakes on the table with just as much difficulty as Harry had. Of course she was ignored.

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here under this big one from Mommy and Daddy."

"All right, thirty-seven then," said Dudley, going red in the face. Harry, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over.

Ariana rolled her eyes at Harry's actions, but nonetheless, she started eating her breakfast fast as well, just not as fast as Harry was eating.

Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, too, because she said quickly, "And we'll buy you another _two_ presents while we're out today. How's that, popkin? _Two_ more presents. Is that all right?"

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard world. Finally he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty…thirty…"

"Thirty-nine," Ariana muttered low enough for Harry to hear. He did, acknowledging her remark with a smirk.

"Thirty-nine, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia.

"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."

Uncle Vernon chuckled.

"Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled Dudley's hair.

At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry, Ariana, and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back in from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take them." She jerked her head in Ariana and Harry's direction.

Dudley's moth fell open in horror, but Ariana and Harry's hearts gave a leap. Every year on Dudley's birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies. Every year, Harry and Ariana were left with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Harry hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Figg made them look at photographs of all the cats she'd ever owned. Ariana especially hated it because she was never a fan of cats.

"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry and Ariana as though they'd planned this. Ariana and Harry knew they ought to feel sorry that Mrs. Figg broke her leg, but it wasn't easy when they reminded themselves it would be a while year before he had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr. Paws, and Tufty again.

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy and the girl especially."

_There's a reason for that,_ Ariana thought to herself.

The Dursleys often spoke about Harry and Ariana like this, as though they weren't there—or rather, as though they were something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like a slug.

"What about what's-her-name, your friend—Yvonne?"

"On vacation in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia.

"You could just leave us here," Harry put in hopefully (he'd be able to watch what he wanted on television for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudley's computer).

Aunt Petunia looked as though she'd just swallowed a lemon.

"And come back and find the house in ruins?" she snarled.

"We won't blow up the house," said Harry.

"I can't say the same for Dudley's bedroom," Ariana spoke up, but they weren't listening.

"I suppose we could take them to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly, "…and leave them in the car…"

"That car's new, they're not sitting in it alone…"

Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn't really crying—it had been years since he'd really cried—but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.

"Dinky Duddydums, don't cry, Mummy won't let them spoil your special day!" she cried, flinging her arms around him.

How her arms actually fit around him was a real mystery to Ariana.

"I…don't…want…them…t-t-to come!" Dudley yelled between huge, pretend sobs. "They always sp-spoil everything!" He shot Harry and Ariana a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms.

Harry had to restrain Ariana so she wouldn't attack Dudley, for he knew she would do so.

Just then, the doorbell rang—"Oh, good Lord, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia frantically—and a moment later, Dudley's best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once.

Half an hour later, Harry, who couldn't believe his luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys' car with Piers, Dudley, and Ariana, on the way to the zoo for the first time in his and Ariana's life. His aunt and uncle hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with them, but before they'd left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harry and Ariana aside.

"I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry's, "I'm warning you now, boy, girl—any funny business, anything at all—and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas."

"We're not going to do anything," said Harry, "honestly…"

"I can't say the same for me," Ariana said.

But Uncle Vernon didn't believe them. No one ever did.

The problem was, strange things often happened around Harry and Ariana and it was just no good telling the Dursleys they didn't make them happen.

Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry coming back from the barbers looking as though he hadn't been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short he almost looked bald except for his bangs, which she left "to hide that horrible scar." Dudley had laughed himself silly at Harry, who spent a sleepless night with Ariana trying to console him, imagining school the next day, where he and Ariana were already laughed at for their baggy clothes and Harry's taped glasses. Next morning, however, he had gotten up to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off. He had been given a week in his cupboard for this, even though he had tried to explain that he _couldn't_ explain how it had grown back so quickly.

Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force Ariana into a revolting old sweater of Dudley's (brown with orange puff balls). The harder she tried to pull it over her head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fitted a hand puppet, but certainly wouldn't fit Ariana. Aunt Petunia had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to her great relief, Ariana wasn't punished.

On the other hand, the both of them had gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Dudley's gang had been chasing them as usual when, as much to Harry and Ariana's surprise as anyone else's, there they were sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from Ariana and Harry's headmistress telling them Harry and Ariana had been climbing school buildings. But all they'd tried to do (as they shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked door of their cupboard) was jump behind the big trash cans outside the kitchen doors. Harry supposed that the wind must have caught them in mid-jump. Ariana thought there was something more behind it and all those weird occurrences.

But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dudley and Piers to be spending the day somewhere that wasn't school, their cupboard, or Mrs. Figg's cabbage-smelling living room.

While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things: Ariana, people at work, Harry, the council, Ariana, the bank, and Harry were just a few of his favorite subjects. This morning, it was motorcycles.

"…roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said, as a motorcycle overtook them.

"I had a dream about a motorcycle," said Harry, remembering suddenly. "It was flying."

"I had the same one," Ariana said.

Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and yelled at Harry and Ariana, his face like a gigantic beet with a mustache: "MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!"

Dudley and Piers sniggered. Though one deadly glare from Ariana made them shut up.

"We know they don't," said Harry. "It was only a dream."

But he wished he hadn't said anything. If there was one thing the Dursleys hated even more than his asking questions, it was his talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn't, no matter if it was in a dream of even a cartoon—they seemed to think they might get dangerous ideas.

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then, because of the smiling lady in the van had asked Harry and Ariana what they wanted before they could hurry them away, they bought them a cheap lemon ice pop. It wasn't bad, either, Harry thought, licking it as they watched a gorilla scratching its head who looked remarkably like Dudley, except that it wasn't blond.

When he pointed this out to Ariana, she rolled her eyes and said, "He can't be like Dudley because the gorilla is a lot smarter than Dudley is."

Ariana and Harry had the best morning they'd had in a long time. They were careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn't fall back on their favorite hobby by hitting them.

They ate in the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another on and Harry and Ariana were allowed to finish the first.

They felt, afterward, that they should have known it was all too good to last.

After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons.

Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped hits body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a trash can—but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.

"Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge.

"Do it again," Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

"It's asleep," Ariana said, crossing her arms.

"This is boring," Dudley moaned. He shuffled away.

Harry and Ariana moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. Harry wouldn't be surprised if it had died of boredom itself—no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom, where you only had one friend, where the only visitor was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake you up; at least he got to visit the rest of the house.

The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Harry's and Ariana's.

_It winked._

Harry and Ariana stared. Then they looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching. They weren't. They turned back at the snake and winked, too.

The snake jerked its head toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Harry and Ariana a look that said quite plainly:

"_I get that all the time."_

"I know," Harry murmured through the glass, though he wasn't sure the snake could hear him. "It must be really annoying."

The snake nodded vigorously.

"Where do you come from, anyway?" Ariana asked.

The snake jabbed its tail at the little sign next to the glass. Ariana peered at it.

Boa Constrictor, Brazil.

"Was it nice there?"

The boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again and Harry read on: This specimen was bred in the zoo. "Oh, I see—so you never been to Brazil?"

As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Harry mad all three of them jump. "DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T _BELIEVE_ WHAT IT'S DOING!"

Dudley came waddling toward them as fast as he could.

"Out of the way, you," he said, punching Harry in the ribs. Caught by surprise, Harry fell into Ariana and they fell hard on the concrete floor. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened—one second, Piers and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror.

Harry and Ariana sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits.

As the snake slid swiftly past them, Ariana and Harry could have sworn a low, hissing voice said, "Brazil, here I come.…Thanks, amigos."

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.

"But the glass," he kept saying, "where did the glass go?"

The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong, sweet tea while he apologized over and over again. Piers and Dudley could only gibber. As far as Harry and Ariana had seen, the snake hadn't done anything except snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon's car, Dudley was telling them how it had dearly bitten off his leg, while Piers was swearing it had tried to squeeze him to death. But worst of all, for Harry and Ariana at least, was Piers calming down enough to say, "Harry and Ariana were talking to it, weren't you, Harry, Ariana?"

Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on Ariana and Harry. He was so angry he could hardly speak. He managed to say, "Go—cupboard—stay—no meals," before he collapsed into a chair, and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large brandy.

* * *

Harry and Ariana lay in their dark cupboard much later, wishing that either had a watch. They didn't know what time it was and they couldn't be sure the Dursleys were asleep yet. Until they were, they couldn't risk sneaking to the kitchen for some food.

They'd lived with the Dursleys for almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as they could remember, ever since they'd been babies and their parents had died in that car crash and Ariana's father went to prison. Sometimes, when Harry strained his memory during long hours in their cupboard, he came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green and a burning pain on his forehead. This, he supposed, was the crash, though he couldn't imagine where all the green light came from.

Ariana told Harry of similar visions she had, though she also saw flashes of red as well.

They couldn't remember their parents at all. Harry's aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and of course they were forbidden to ask questions. There were no photographs of them in the house.

When they had been younger, Harry had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take him and Ariana away, but it had never happened; the Dursleys were his only family aside from Ariana. Yet sometimes he thought (or maybe hoped) that strangers in the street seemed to know him. Very strange strangers they were, too.

A tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed to him and Ariana once while out shopping with Aunt Petunia and Dudley. After asking them furiously if they knew the man, Aunt Petunia had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything. A wild-looking old woman dressed all in green waved merrily at them once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shaken their hands in the street the other day and then walked away without a word.

The weirdest thing about all these people was the way the seemed to vanish the second Harry and Ariana tried to get a closer look.

At school, Harry had no one besides Ariana. Everybody knew that Dudley's gang hated that odd Harry Potter in his baggy clothes and broken glasses, hated Ariana Black for she was the only one to stand up to Dudley to defend herself and Harry, and nobody like to disagree with Dudley's gang.


	3. The Letters From No One

Chapter 3 The Letters From No One

The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Harry and Ariana their longest-ever punishment. By the time they were allowed out of their cupboard again, the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already broken his new video camera, crashed his remote control airplane, and, first time out on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches.

Ariana kept mumbling about how the baby whale had no respect for his elders.

Harry and Ariana were glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley's gang, who visited the house every single day. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all big and stupid, but as Dudley was the biggest and the stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. Ariana found that to be brilliant logic. The rest of them were all quite happy to join in Dudley's favorite sport: Harry and Ariana Hunting.

This was why Harry and Ariana spent as much time as possible out of the house, wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, where they could see a tiny ray of hope.

When September came they would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in their life, they wouldn't be with Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too.

Harry and Ariana, on the other hand, were going to Stonewall High, the local public school. Dudley thought this was very funny.

"They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall," he told Ariana and Harry. "Want to come upstairs and practice?"

"Sure," Ariana said brightly. "But let's use your head instead."

"No, thanks," said Harry. "The poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it—it might be sick." Then the two ran, before Dudley could work out what they'd said.

One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Harry and Ariana at Mrs. Figg's. Mrs. Figg wasn't as bad as usual. It turned out she'd broken her leg tripping over one of her cats, and she didn't seem quite as fond of them as before. She let Harry and Ariana watch television and gave them a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though she'd hat if for several years.

Ariana told Harry that cats couldn't be trusted and that this was an example of why.

That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings' boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life.

As he looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up.

Harry didn't trust himself to speak. He thought two of his ribs might already have cracked from trying not to laugh. Ariana, though, doubled over, laughing, with her face as red as her hair.

* * *

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Ariana and Harry went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. They went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in gray water.

"What's this?" Harry asked Aunt Petunia. Her lips tightened as they always did if he dared to ask a question.

"Your new school uniform," she said.

Harry and Ariana looked in the bowl again.

"Oh," he said, "I didn't realize it had to be so wet."

"Or ugly for that matter," Ariana added.

"Don't be stupid," snapped Aunt Petunia. "I'm dyeing some of Dudley's things gray for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished."

Both Harry and Ariana seriously doubted this, but thought it best not to argue, against Ariana's better judgment. They sat down at the table and tried not to think about how they were going to look on their first day at Stonewall High—like they were wearing bits of old elephant skin, probably.

Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell of Harry and Ariana's new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smelting stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table.

They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Harry get it."

"Get the mail, Harry."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Poke him with your Smelting stick, Dudley."

Harry dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. Four things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and—_a letter for Harry and Ariana._

Harry picked them up and stared at them, his heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him or to Ariana. Who would? They had no friends but each other, no other relatives—they didn't belong to the library, so they'd never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet here they were, two letters, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

_Mr. H. Potter_

_The Cupboard under the Stairs_

_4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

And:

_Miss A. Black_

_The Cupboard under the Stairs_

_4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

The envelopes were thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the addresses were written in emerald-green ink. There were no stamps.

Turning the envelope over, his hand trembling, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter _H._

"Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke.

"Oh yes," Ariana said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "that was so funny, I forgot to laugh."

Harry went back to the kitchen, still staring at his and Ariana's letters. He handed Uncle Vernon the bill and postcard, sat down, handed Ariana her letter, missed her confused look, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope.

Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard.

"Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny whelk…"

"YES!" Ariana cried. "THE FAT COW IS SICK!"

"Dad!" said Dudley suddenly. "Dad, Harry and Ariana have got something!"

Harry and Ariana were on the point of unfolding their letters, which were written on the same heavy parchment as the envelopes, when they were jerked sharply out of their hands by Uncle Vernon.

"That's _mine_!" said Harry, trying to snatch it back.

"Who'd be writing to you two?" sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking the letters open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds it was the grayish white of old porridge.

"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped.

"Drama queen," Ariana muttered under her breath.

Dudley tried to grab the letters to read it, but Uncle Vernon held them high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.

"Vernon! Oh my goodness—Vernon!"

They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry, Ariana, and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn't used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.

"I want to read those letters," he said loudly.

"_I _want to read it," said Harry furiously, "as it's _mine._"

"It's illegal to read other people's mail," Ariana said. "Now give me my letter."

"Get out, all three of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letters back inside their envelopes.

Harry and Ariana didn't move.

"WE WANT OUR LETTERS!" they shouted.

"Let _me_ see them!" demanded Dudley.

"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Harry and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks while Aunt Petunia grabbed Ariana by the arm and threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them.

Harry and Dudley promptly had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley won, so Harry, his glasses dangling from one ear, lay flat on his stomach to listen at the crack between door and floor. Ariana took a chair and stood on it to listen at the top of the door.

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the address—how could they possibly know where they sleep? You don't think they're watching the house?"

"Watching—spying—might be following us," mutter Uncle Vernon wildly.

Ariana rolled her eyes. Who would want to spy on Vernon?

"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want—"

Harry could see Uncle Vernon's shiny black shoes pacing up and down the kitchen.

"No," he said finally. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer.…Yes, that's best…we don't do anything.…"

"But—"

"I'm not having two in this house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took them in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"

* * *

That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before; he visited Harry and Ariana in their cupboard.

"Where's our letters?" said Harry, the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed through the door. "Who's writing to us?"

"No one. They were addressed to you by mistake," said Uncle Vernon shortly. "I have burned them."

"It was _not_ a mistake," said Ariana angrily, "it had our cupboard on them."

"SILENCE!" yelled Uncle Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. He took a few deep breaths and then forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful.

"Er—yes, Harry, Ariana—about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking…you're really getting a bit big for it…we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom.

"Why?" said Harry.

"Don't ask questions!" snapped his uncle. "Take this stuff upstairs, now."

The Dursleys' house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom.

It only took Harry and Ariana one trip upstairs to move everything they owned from the cupboard to this room. They sat down on two beds and stared around them.

Nearly everything in here was broken. The month-old video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbor's dog; in the corner was Dudley's first-ever television set, which he'd put his foot through when his favorite program had been canceled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley had sat on it. Other shelves were full of books. They were the only things in the room that looked as though they'd never been touched.

Ariana quickly went over and looked at them, seeing what kind of books she could read.

From downstairs came the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother, "I don't _want_ them in there…I _need_ that room…make them get out.…"

Harry sighed and stretched out on the bed while Ariana propped herself on the pillows and read. Yesterday they'd have given anything to be up here. Today they'd rather be back in their cupboard with that letter than up here without it.

* * *

Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He'd screamed, whacked his father with his Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother, and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn't have his room back. Harry was thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing he'd opened the letter in the hall. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.

When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Harry and Ariana, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted, "There're two more! 'Mr. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive—'"

With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the hall, Harry and Ariana right behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, which was made difficult by the fact that Harry had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind.

After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with Ariana and Harry's letters clutched in his hand.

"Go to your cupboard—I mean, your bedroom," he wheezed at Harry and Ariana. "Dudley—go—just go."

Harry walked round and round his new room while Ariana sat down on her bed. Someone knew they had moved out of their cupboard and they seemed to know they hadn't received their first letter. Surely that meant they'd try again? And this time they'd make sure they didn't fail. Harry had a plan.

"I'm not sure it's going to work," Ariana told Harry once he explained the plan to her. Harry was about to say something, but Ariana intervened. "I'm not saying your plans don't always work, but this plan has flaws. I guess I'll go along with it, but only to make sure you don't do anything stupid."

* * *

The repaired alarm clock ran at six o'clock the next morning. Harry turned it off quickly and dress silently before waking Ariana up. They mustn't wake the Dursleys. They stole downstairs without turning on any of the lights.

They were going to wait for the postman on the corner of Privet Drive and get the letters for number four first. Harry's heart hammered as they crept across the dark hall toward the front door—

"AAAAARRGH!"

Harry and Ariana leapt into the air; they'd trodden on something big and squashy on the doormat—something _alive_!

Lights clicked on upstairs and to his horror Harry realized that the big, squashy something had been his uncle's face.

"Yes!" Ariana said. "We got him in the face!"

Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag, clearly making sure that Harry and Ariana didn't do exactly what they'd been trying to do. He shouted at Ariana and Harry for about half an hour and then told them to go and make a cup of tea. They shuffled miserably off into the kitchen and by the time they got back, the mail had arrived, right into Uncle Vernon's lap. Harry and Ariana could see six letters addressed in green ink.

"We want—" Harry began, but Uncle Vernon was tearing the letters into pieces before their eyes.

Uncle Vernon didn't go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot.

"See," he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, "if they can't _deliver_ them they'll just give up."

"I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon."

"Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they're not like you and me," said Uncle Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with the piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought him.

* * *

On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived for Harry and Ariana. As they couldn't go through the mail slot they had been pushed under the door, slotted through the sides, and a few even forced through the small window in the downstairs bathroom.

Uncle Vernon stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, he got out a hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors so no one could go out. He hummed "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" as he worked, and jumped at small noises.

* * *

On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to Ariana and Harry found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window.

While Uncle Vernon made furious telephone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in her food processor.

"Who on earth wants to talk to _you_ this badly?" Dudley asked Harry and Ariana in amazement.

"Lots of people that we probably don't know about," Ariana said. "Harry and I are pretty amazing people."

On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy.

"No post on Sundays," he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, "no damn letters today—"

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but Harry and Ariana leapt into the air trying to catch one—

"Out! OUT!"

Uncle Vernon seized Harry and Ariana around the waist and threw them into the hall. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.

"That does it," said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his mustache at the same time. "I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"

"I…your…that's—I'll shut up now," Ariana said, seeing Uncle Vernon's glare.

He looked so dangerous with half his mustache missing that no one dared to argue. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway.

Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag.

They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where they were going. Every now and then Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while.

"Shake 'em off…shake 'em off," he would mutter whenever he did this.

They didn't stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall Dudley was howling. He'd never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry, he'd missed five television programs he'd wanted to see, and he'd never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer.

Ariana rolled her eyes at his behavior because neither she nor Harry were having a good day either.

Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley, Ariana, and Harry shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored and Ariana was sleeping as peacefully as she could but Harry stay awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars and wondering.…

* * *

They are cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast the next day. They had just finished when the owner of the hotel came over to their table.

"'Scuse me, but is one of you Mr. H. Potter or Miss A. Black? Only I got about an 'undred of these at the front desk."

She held up two letters so they could read the green ink address:

_Mr. H. Potter_

_Room 17_

_Railview Hotel_

_Cokeworth_

And:

_Miss. A. Black_

_Room 17_

_Railview Hotel_

_Cokeworth_

Harry and Ariana made a grab for the letters but Uncle Vernon knocked their hands out of the way. The woman stared.

"I'll take them," said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following her from the dining room.

"Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, none of them knew.

He drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car, and off they went again. The same thing happened in the middle of a plowed field, halfway across a suspension bridge, and at the top of multilevel parking garage.

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully late that afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car, and disappeared.

"Daddy went mad a long time ago," Ariana muttered to Harry, who stifled a laugh.

It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dudley sniveled.

"It's Monday," he told his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a _television."_

Monday. This reminded Harry of something. If it _was_ Monday—and you could count on Dudley to know the days of the week, because of television—then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Harry's eleventh birthday. Of course, his birthdays were never exactly fun, and neither were Ariana's—last year, the Dursleys had given Ariana a coat hanger and they had given him a pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks. Still, you weren't eleven every day.

Ariana took Harry's hand and gave it a squeeze. "Happy early birthday, Harry," she said.

Uncle Vernon was back and he was smiling (something that made Ariana shudder). He was also carrying a long, thin package and didn't answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he'd bought.

"Found the perfect place!" he said. "Come on! Everyone out!"

It was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large rock out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine. One thing was certain, there was no television in there.

"Storm forecast for tonight!" said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!"

A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat in the iron-gray water below them.

"I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, "so all aboard!"

It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house.

The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms.

Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of chips each and five bananas. He tried to start a fire but the empty chip bags just smoked and shriveled up.

"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he said cheerfully.

He was in a very good mood. Obviously he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Harry and Ariana privately agreed, though the thought didn't cheer them up at all.

As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and fierce wind rattled the filthy windows.

Aunt Petunia found a few moldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, and Harry and Ariana were left to find the softest bit of floor they could and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Harry and Ariana couldn't sleep. They shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, their stomachs rumbling in hunger. Dudley's snores were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight.

The lighted dial of Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told Harry he'd be eleven in ten minutes' time.

He and Ariana lay and watched his birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter writer was now.

Five minutes to go. Ariana and Harry heard something creak outside. He hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, although he might be warmer if it did.

Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that they'd be able to steal one somehow.

Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that? And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea?

One minute to go and he'd be eleven. Thirty seconds…twenty…ten…nine—maybe they'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him—three…two…one…

BOOM.

The whole shack shivered and Harry and Ariana sat bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.


	4. The Keeper Of Keys

Chapter 4 The Keeper Of Keys

BOOM. They knocked again. Dudley jerked awake.

"Where's the cannon?" he said stupidly.

There was a crash behind them and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room. He was holding a rifle in his hands—now they knew what had been in the long, thin package he had brought with them.

"Who's there?" he shouted, ignoring Ariana. "I warn you—I'm armed!"

"A GUN? YOU BROUGHT A GUN WHEN THERE ARE CHILDREN AROUND?!" Ariana shouted.

There was a pause. Then—

SMASH!

The door was hit with such force that it swung clean off its hinges and with a deafening crash landed flat on the floor.

A giant of a man was standing in the doorway. His face was almost completely hidden by a long shaggy name of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair.

The giant squeezed his way into the hut, stooping so that his head just brushed the ceiling. He bent down, picked up the door, and fitted it easily back into its frame. The noise of the storm outside dropped a little. He turned to look at them all.

"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey.…"

He strode over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen with fear.

"Budge up, yeh great lump," said the stranger.

Dudley squeaked and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching, terrified, behind Uncle Vernon.

"An' here's Harry and Ariana!" said the giant.

Harry and Ariana looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw that the beetle eyes were crinkled in a smile.

"Las' time I saw you, you two were only babies," said the giant. "Yeh look a lot like yer dad, Harry, but yeh've got yer mom's eyes. An' you look a lot like yer mom, Ariana, but yeh have yer dad's eyes."

Uncle Vernon made a funny rasping noise.

"I demand that you leave at once, sir!" he said. "You are breaking and entering!"

"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh prune," said the giant; he reached over the back of the sofa, jerked the gun out of Uncle Vernon's hands, bent it into a knot easily as if it had been made of rubber, and threw it into a corner of the room.

Uncle Vernon made another funny noise, like a mouse being trodden on.

"Anyway—Harry," said the giant, turning his back on the Dursleys, "a happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here—I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right."

From an inside pocket of his black overcoat he pulled a slightly squashed box. Harry opened it with trembling fingers as Ariana looked over his shoulder. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with _Happy Birthday Harry_ written on it in green icing.

Harry looked up at the giant. He meant to say thank you, but the words got lost on the way to his mouth, and what he said instead was, "Who are you?"

Ariana smacked his arm. "What Harry meant to say was, 'Thank you for the cake, but could you please tell us who you are?'" she said.

The giant chuckled.

"It's all right, Ariana. I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."

He held out an enormous hand and shook Harry and Ariana's whole arms.

"What about that tea then, eh?" he said, rubbing his hands together. "I'd not say no ter summat stronger if yeh've got it, mind."

His eyes fell on the empty grate with the shriveled chip bags in it and he snorted. He bent down over the fireplace; they couldn't see what he was doing but when he drew back a second later, there was a roaring fire there. It filled the whole damp hut with flickering light and Harry and Ariana felt the warmth wash over them as though they'd sunk into a hot bath.

The giant sat back down on the sofa, which sagged under his weight, and began taking all sorts of things out of the pockets of his coat: a copper kettle, a squashy package of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several chipped mugs, and a bottle of some amber liquid that he took a swig from before starting to make tea.

Soon the hut was full of the sound and smell of sizzling sausage. Nobody said a thing while the giant was working, but as he slid the first six fat, juicy, slightly burnt sausages from the poker, Dudley fidgeted a little.

Uncle Vernon said sharply, "Don't touch anything he gives you, Dudley."

The giant chuckled darkly.

"Yer great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' anymore, Dursley, don' worry."

He passed the sausages to Ariana and Harry, who were so hungry they had never tasted anything so wonderful, but they couldn't take their eyes off the giant. Finally, as nobody seemed about to explain anything, Harry said, "I'm sorry, but we still don't really know who you are."

The giant took a gulp of tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Call me Hagrid," he said, "everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts—yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course."

"Er—no," said Ariana.

Hagrid looked shocked.

"Sorry," Harry said quickly.

"_Sorry?"_ backed Hagrid, turning to stare at the Dursleys, who shrank back into the shadows. "It's them as should be sorry! I knew yeh weren't gettin' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learned it all?"

"All what?" asked Harry and Ariana in unison.

"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid thundered. "Now wait jus' one second!"

He had leapt to his feet. In his anger he seemed to fill the whole hut. The Dursleys were cowering against the wall.

"Do you mean ter tell me," he growled at the Dursleys, "that this boy and girl—this boy and girl!—knows nothin' abou'—about ANYTHING?"

Ariana and Harry thought this was going a bit far. They had been to school, after all, and their marks weren't bad.

"We know _some_ things," Harry said. "I can, you know, do math and stuff. Ariana can spell and she's really good at science."

But Hagrid simply waved his hand and said, "About _our_ world, I mean. _Your_ world. _My_ world. _Yer parents' world._"

"What world?" Ariana asked.

Hagrid looked as if he was about to explode.

"DURSLEY!" he boomed.

Uncle Vernon, who had gone very pale, whispered something that sounded like "Mimblewimble." Hagrid stared wildly at Harry and Ariana.

"But yeh must know about yer moms and dads," he said. "I mean they're _famous._ You're _famous._"

"What? Our—our moms and dads weren't famous, were they?"

"Yeh don' know…yeh don' know…" Hagrid ran his fingers through his hair, fixing Harry and Ariana with a bewildered stare.

"Yeh don' know what yeh _are_?" he said finally.

Uncle Vernon suddenly found his voice.

"Stop!" he commanded. "Stop right there, sir! I forbid you to tell the boy and girl anything!"

A braver man than Vernon Dursley would have quailed under the furious look Hagrid now gave him; when Hagrid spoke, his every syllable trembled with rage.

"You never told them? Never told them what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer them? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from them all these years?"

"Kept _what_ from us?" said Harry eagerly.

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yelled Uncle Vernon in panic.

Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror.

"Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh," said Hagrid. "Harry—yer a wizard. An' Ariana—yer a witch."

There was silence inside the hut. Only the sea and the whistling wind could be heard.

"I'm a _what_?" gasped Harry.

"Huh?" Ariana said.

"A wizard an' a witch, o' course," said Hagrid, sitting back down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower, "an' a thumpin' good'un, I'd say, once yeh've been trained up a bit. With parents like both of yours, what else would yeh be? An' I reckon it's abou' time yeh read yer letter."

Harry stretched out his hand at last to take the yellowish envelope, addressed in emerald green to Mr. H. Potter and Miss A. Black, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea. He pulled out the letter as Ariana looked over his shoulder and read:

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_ Dear Mr. Potter and Miss Black,_

_ We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_ Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

_ Yours Sincerely,_

_ Minerva McGonagall,_

_ Deputy Headmistress_

Questions exploded inside Harry's head like fireworks and he couldn't decide which to ask first. After a few minutes he stammered, "What does it mean, they away our owl?"

Ariana snorted. "That's your first question, Harry?"

"Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me," said Hagrid, clapping a hand to his forehead with enough force to knock over a cart horse, and from yet another pocket inside his overcoat he pulled an owl—a real, live, rather ruffled-looking owl—a long quill, and a roll of parchment. With his tongue between his teeth he scribbled a note that Harry and Ariana could read upside down:

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_Given Harry and Ariana their letter._

_Taking them to buy their things tomorrow._

_Weather's horrible. Hope you're well._

_Hagrid_

Hagrid rolled up the note, gave it to the owl, which clamped it in its beak, went to the door, and threw the owl out into the storm. Then he came back and sat down as though this was as normal as talking on the telephone.

Harry realized his mouth was open and closed it quickly.

"Where was I?" said Hagrid, but at that moment, Uncle Vernon, still ashen-faced but looking very angry, moved into the firelight.

"They're not going," he said.

Hagrid grunted.

"I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you to stop them," he said.

"A what?" said Harry and Ariana, interested.

"A Muggle," said Hagrid, "it's what we call nonmagic folk like them. An' it's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on."

"We swore when we took them in we'd put a stop to that rubbish," said Uncle Vernon, "swore we'd stamp it out of them! Wizard and witch indeed!"

"You _knew_?" said Harry. "You _knew_ I'm a—a wizard? And that Ariana is a witch?"

"Knew!" shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. "_Knew!_ Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared of to that—that _school_—and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was—a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!"

She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed she had been wanting to say all this for years.

"Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as—as—_abnormal_—and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you and the girl! Your mother was just as worse. She was always over at our house every holiday. Then she went and got herself blown up with the boy's parents while your father was put in jail."

Ariana's eye twitched while Harry had gone white. As soon as he found his voice he said, "Blown up? You told us they died in a car crash!"

"CAR CRASH!" roared Hagrid, jumping up so angrily that the Dursleys scuttled back to their corner. "How could a car crash kill Lily an' James Potter an' Elise Black? It's an outrage! A scandal! Harry Potter an' Ariana Black not knowin' their own story when every kid in our world knows their names!"

"But why? What happened?" Harry asked urgently.

The anger faded from Hagrid's face. He looked suddenly anxious.

"I never expected this," he said, in a low, worried voice. "I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble gettin' hold of yeh, how much yeh didn't know. Ah, Harry, Ariana, I don' know if I'm the right person ter tell yeh—but someone's gotta—yeh can't go off ter Hogwarts no knowin'."

He threw a dirty look at the Dursleys.

"Well, it's best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh—mind, I can't tell yeh everythin', it's a great myst'ry, parts of it.…"

He sat down, stared into the fire for a few seconds, and then said, "It begins, I suppose, with—with a person called—but it's incredible yeh don't know his name, everyone in our world knows—"

"Who?"

"Well—I don' like sayin' if I can help it. No one does."

"Why not?"

"Gulpin' gargoyles, Harry, people are still scared. Blimey, this is difficult. See, there was this wizard who went…bad. As bad as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse. His name was…"

Hagrid gulped, but no words came out.

"Could you write it down?" Ariana suggested.

"Nah—can't spell it. All right—_Voldemort._" Hagrid shuddered. "Don' make me say it again. Anyway, this—this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em, too—some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o' his power, 'cause he was gettin' himself power, all right. Dark days, Harry, Ariana. Didn't know who ter trust, didn't dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches…terrible things happened. He was takin' over. 'Course, some stood up to him—an' he killed 'em. Horribly. One o' the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn't dare try takin' the school, not jus' then, anyway.

"Now, yer mum an' dad were as good a witch an' wizard as I ever knew. Head boy an' girl at Hogwarts in their day! Elise was even a prefect! Suppose the myst'ry is why You-Know-Who never tried to get 'em on his side before…probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin' ter do with the Dark Side, 'specially your mom, Ariana.

"Maybe he thought he could persuade 'em…maybe he just wanted 'em outta the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you was all living, on Halloween ten years ago. You both were just a year old. He came ter yer house an'—an'—"

Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief and blew his nose with a sound like a foghorn.

"Sorry," he said. "But it's that sad—knew both yer mums an' dads, an' nicer people yeh couldn't find—anyway…

"You-Know-Who killed 'em. An' then—an' this is the real myst'ry of the thing—he tried to kill you, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just like killin' by then. But he couldn't do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer foreheads? That was no ordinary cut. That's what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh—took care of yer mums an' dad an' yer house, even—but it didn't work on you, an' that's why yer famous, Ariana, Harry. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill 'em, no one except you two, an' he'd killed some o' the best witches an' wizards of the age—the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts—an' you were only babies, an' you lived."

Something very painful was going on in Harry and Ariana's minds. As Hagrid's story came to a close, they saw the blinding flash of green light, more clearly than they had ever remembered it before—and they remembered something else, for the first time in their lives: a high, cold, cruel laugh. For Ariana, she also remembered something else: a high-pitched scream that sounded like a woman's.

Hagrid was watching them sadly.

"Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore's orders. Brought yeh ter this lot…"

"Load of old tosh," said Uncle Vernon. Harry and Ariana jumped; they had almost forgotten that the Dursleys were there. Uncle Vernon certainly seemed to have got back his courage. He was glaring at Hagrid and his fists were clenched.

"Now, you listen here, boy, girl," he snarled, "I accept there's something strange about you two, probably nothing a good beating wouldn't have cured—and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdos, no denying it, and the world's better off without them in my opinion—asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types—just what I expected, always knew they'd come to a sticky end—"

But at that moment, Hagrid leapt from the sofa and drew a battered pink umbrella from inside his coat. Pointing it at Uncle Vernon like a sword, he said, "I'm warning you, Dursley—I'm warning you—one more word…"

In danger of being speared on the end of an umbrella by a bearded giant, Uncle Vernon's courage failed again; he flattened himself against the wall and fell silent.

"That's better," said Hagrid, breathing heavily and sitting back down on the sofa, which this time sagged right down to the floor.

Harry and Ariana, meanwhile, still had questions to ask, hundreds of them.

"But what happened to Vol-, sorry—I mean, You-Know-Who?"

"Good question, Harry. Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That's the biggest myst'ry, see…he was gettin' more an' more powerful—why'd he go?

"Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time, like, but I don' believe it. People who was on his side came back ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don' reckon they could've done if he was comin' back.

"Most of us reckon he's still out there somewhere but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. 'Cause somethin' about you finished him, Ariana, Harry. There was somethin' goin' on that night he hadn't counted on—_I_ dunno what it was, no one does—but somethin' about you two stumped him, all right."

Hagrid looked at Harry with warmth and respect blazing in his eyes, but Harry, instead of feeling pleased and proud, felt quite sure there had been a horrible mistake.

A wizard? Him? How could he possibly be? He and Ariana had spent their lives being clouted by Dudley, and bullied by Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon; if they were really a wizard and a witch, why hadn't they been turned into warty toads every time they'd tried to lock him and Ariana in their cupboard? If he'd once defeated the greatest sorcerer in the world, how come Dudley had always been able to kick him around like a football?

Ariana, on the other hand, had similar thoughts, but hers were the opposite of Harry's. Her being a witch and Harry being a wizard did explain some of the strange things that had happened to them in earlier years. What other possible explanation could there be?

"Hagrid," Harry said quietly, "I think you must have made a mistake. I don't think I can be a wizard. Ariana can't be a witch."

To his surprise, Hagrid chuckled.

"Not a wizard and a witch, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or angry?"

Harry looked into the fire. Now he came to think about it…every odd thing that had ever made his aunt and uncle furious with him or Ariana had happened when they, Harry and Ariana, had been upset or angry…chased by Dudley's gang, they had somehow found themselves out of their reach…dreading going to school with that ridiculous haircut, he'd managed to make it grow back…and the very last time Dudley had hit them, hadn't they got their revenge, without even realizing they were doing it? Hadn't they set a boa constrictor on him?

Harry and Ariana looked back at Hagrid, smiling, and saw that Hagrid was positively beaming at them.

"See?" said Hagrid. "Harry Potter and Ariana Black, not a wizard and a witch—you wait, you'll be right famous at Hogwarts."

But Uncle Vernon wasn't going to give up without a fight.

"Haven't I told you they're not going?" he hissed. "They're going to Stonewall High and they'll be grateful for it. I've read those letters and they need all sorts of rubbish—spell books and wands and—"

"If they want ter go, a great Muggle like you won't stop them," growled Hagrid. "Stop Lily an' James Potter's son and Elise Black's daughter goin' ter Hogwarts! Yer mad. Their names have been down ever since they were born. They're off ter the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Seven years there and they won't know themselves. They'll be with youngsters of their own sort, fer a change, an' they'll be under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had, Albus Dumbled—"

"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH THEM MAGIC TRICKS!" yelled Uncle Vernon.

But he had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head. "NEVER—" he thundered, "—INSULT—ALBUS—DUMBELDORE—IN—FRONT—OF—ME!"

He brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dudley—there was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp squeal, and the next second, Dudley was dancing on the spot with his hands clasped over his fat bottom, howling in pain. When he turned his back on them, Harry and Ariana saw a curly pig's tail poking through a hole in his trousers.

Ariana collapsed to the floor in laughs.

Uncle Vernon roared. Pulling Aunt Petunia and Dudley into the other room, he cast one last terrified look at Hagrid and slammed the door behind them.

Hagrid looked down at his umbrella and stroked his beard.

"Shouldn'ta lost me temper," he said ruefully, "but it didn't work anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway there wasn't much left ter do."

He casted a sideways look at Harry and Ariana, who had gotten up with a calm look on her face, under his bushy eyebrows.

"Be grateful if yeh didn't mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts," he said. "I'm—er—not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin'. I was allowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh an' get yer letters to yeh an' stuff—one o' the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job—"

"Why aren't you supposed to do magic?" asked Harry.

"Oh, well—I was at Hogwarts meself but I—er—got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an' everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore."

"Why were you expelled?" Ariana asked this time.

"It's gettin' late and we've got lots ter do tomorrow," said Hagrid loudly. "Gotta get up ter town, get all yer books an' that."

He took off his think black coat and threw it to Harry and Ariana.

"You can kip under that," he said. "Don' mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o' dormice in one o' the pockets."

Ariana furrowed her eyebrows. "Dormice?"


	5. Diagon Alley

Chapter 5 Diagon Alley

Harry woke early the next morning. Although he could tell it was daylight, he kept his eyes shut tight.

"It was a dream," he told himself firmly. "I dreamed a giant called Hagrid came to tell me and Ariana we were going to a school for wizards and witches. When I open my eyes I'll be at home in my cupboard with Ariana."

There was suddenly a loud tapping noise.

_And there's Aunt Petunia knocking on the door,_ Harry thought, his heart sinking. But he still didn't open his eyes. It had been such a good dream.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Ariana groaned from her place beside Harry. "Harry."

"All right," Harry mumbled, "I'm getting up."

He sat up and Hagrid's heavy coat fell off him and Ariana. The hut was full of sunlight, the storm was over, Hagrid himself was asleep on the collapsed sofa, Ariana was just getting up herself, and there was an owl rapping its claw on the window, a newspaper held in its beak.

Harry scrambled to his feet, so happy he felt as though a large balloon was swelling inside him. He went straight to the window and jerked it open. The owl swooped in and dropped the newspaper on top of Hagrid, who didn't wake up. The owl then fluttered onto the floor and began to attack Hagrid's coat.

"Don't do that."

Harry and Ariana tried to wave the owl out of the way, but it snapped its beak fiercely at them and carried on savaging the coat.

"Hagrid!" said Harry loudly. "There's an owl—"

"Pay him," Hagrid grunted into the sofa.

"What?" Ariana questioned.

"He wants payin' fer deliverin' the paper. Look in the pockets."

Hagrid's coat seemed to be made of nothing _but_ pockets—bunches of keys, slug pellets, balls of string, peppermint humbugs, teabags…finally, with the help of Ariana, Harry pulled out a handful of strange-looking coins.

"Give him five Knuts," said Hagrid sleepily.

"Knuts?"

"The little bronze ones."

Harry counted out five little bronze coins, and the howl held out his leg so Harry could put the money into the small leather pouch tied to it. Then he flew off through the open window.

Hagrid yawned loudly, sat up, and stretched.

"Best be off, Harry, Ariana, lots ter do today, gotta get up ter London an' buy all yer stuff fer school."

Harry was turning over the wizard coins and looking at them with Ariana. He had just thought of something that made him feel as though the happy balloon inside him got a puncture.

"Um—Hagrid?"

"Mm?" said Hagrid, who was pulling on his huge boots.

"We haven't got any money—and you heard Uncle Vernon last night…he won't pay for me and Ariana to go and learn magic." Ariana looked down at the floor, realizing that Harry was right.

"Don't worry about that," said Hagrid, standing up and scratching his head. "D'yeh think yer parents didn't leave yeh anything?"

"But if their houses were destroyed—"

"They didn' keep their gold in the house, boy! Nah, first stop fer us is Gringotts. Wizards' bank. Have a sausage, they're not bad cold—an' I wouldn' say no teh a bit o' yer birthday cake, neither."

"Wizards have _banks_?" Ariana asked.

"Just the one. Gringotts. Run by goblins."

Harry dropped the bit of sausage he was holding while Ariana looked at Hagrid in awe.

"_Goblins?"_

"Yeah—so yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it, I'll tell yeh that. Never mess with goblins, Harry. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe—'cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o' fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business." Hagrid drew himself proudly. "He usually get me ter do important stuff fer him. Fetchin' you two—gettin' things from Gringotts—knows he can trust me, see.

"Got everythin'? Come on, them."

Harry and Ariana followed Hagrid out onto the rock. They sky was quite clear now and the sea gleamed in the sunlight. The boat Uncle Vernon had hired was still there, with a lot of water in the bottom after the storm.

"How did you get here?" Harry asked, looking around for another boat.

"Flew," said Hagrid.

"_Flew?"_

"Yeah—but we'll go back in this. Not s'pposed ter use magic now that I've got yeh."

They settled down in the boat, Harry and Ariana still staring at Hagrid, trying to imagine him flying.

"Seems a shame ter row, though," said Hagrid, giving Harry and Ariana another of his sideways looks. "If I was ter—er—speed things up a bit, would yeh mind not mentionin' it at Hogwarts?"

"Of course not," said Harry and Ariana, eager to see more magic. Hagrid pulled out the pink umbrella again, tapped it twice on the side of the boat, and they sped off toward land.

"Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?" Harry asked.

"Spells—enchantments," said Hagrid, unfolding his newspaper as he spoke. "They say there's dragons guardin' the high-security vaults. And then yeh gotta find yer way—Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh'd die of hunger tryin' ter get out, even if yeh did manage ter get yer hands on summat."

Harry and Ariana sat and thought about this while Hagrid read his newspaper, the _Daily Prophet._ Ariana and Harry had learned from Uncle Vernon that people liked to be left alone while they did this, but it was very difficult, they'd never had so many questions in their lives.

"Ministry o' Magic messin' things up as usual," Hagrid muttered, turning the page.

"There's a Ministry of Magic?" Ariana asked, before she could stop herself.

"'Course," said Hagrid. "They wanted Dumbledore fer Minister, o' course, but he'd never leave Hogwarts, so old Cornelius Fudge got the job. Bungler if ever there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, askin' fer advice."

"But what does a Ministry of Magic _do_?" Harry asked this time.

"Well, their main job is to keep it from the Muggles that there's still witches an' wizards up an' down the country."

"Why?"

"_Why?_ Blimey, you two, everyone'd be wantin' magic solutions to their problems. Nah, we're best left alone."

At this moment the boat bumped gently into the harbor wall. Hagrid folded up his newspaper, and they clambered up the stone steps onto the street.

Passersby stared a lot at Hagrid as they walked through the little town to the station. Harry and Ariana didn't blame them. Not only was Hagrid twice as tall as anyone else, he kept pointing at perfectly ordinary things like parking meters and saying loudly, "See that, Harry, Ariana? Things these Muggles dream up, eh?"

"Hagrid," said Harry, panting a bit as he and Ariana ran to keep up, "did you say there are _dragons_ at Gringotts?"

"Well, so they say," said Hagrid. "Crikey, I'd like a dragon."

"You'd _like_ one?"

"Wanted one ever since I was a kid—here we go."

They had reached the station. There was a train to London in five minutes' time. Hagrid, who didn't understand "Muggle money," as he called it, gave the bills to Harry and Ariana as they could buy their tickets.

People stared more than ever on the train. Hagrid too up two seats and sat knitting what looked like a canary-yellow circus tent.

"Still got yer letter, you two?" he asked as he counted stitches.

Harry took the parchment envelope out of his pocket.

"Good," said Hagrid. "There's a list there of everything yeh need."

Ariana and Harry unfolded a second piece of paper they hadn't noticed the night before, and read:

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_UNIFORM_

_First-year students will require:_

_Three sets of plain work robes (black)_

_One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear_

_One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)_

_One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)_

_Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags_

_COURSE BOOKS_

_All students should have a copy of each of the following:_

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)

_by Miranda Goshawk_

A History of Magic _by Bathilda Bagshot_

Magical Theory _by Adalbert Waffling_

A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration _by Emeric Switch_

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi

_by Phyllida Spore_

Magical Drafts and Potions _by Arsenius Jigger_

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

_by Newt Scamander_

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protections

_by Quentin Trimble_

_OTHER EQUIPMENT_

_1 wand_

_I cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)_

_1 set of glass or crystal phials_

_1 telescope_

_1 set of brass scales_

_Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad_

_PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS_

_ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS_

"Can we buy all this in London?" Ariana wondered aloud.

"If yeh know where to go," said Hagrid.

* * *

Harry and Ariana had never been to London before. Although Hagrid seemed to know where he was going, he was obviously not used to getting there in an ordinary way.

He got stuck in the ticket barrier on the Underground, and complained loudly that the seats were too small and the trains too slow.

"I don't know how the Muggles manage without magic," he said as they climbed a broken-down escalator that led up to the bustling road lined with shops.

Hagrid was so huge that he parted the crowd easily; all Harry and Ariana had to do was keep close behind him.

They passed book shops and music stores, hamburger restaurants and cinemas, but nowhere that looked as if it could sell you a magic wand. This was just an ordinary street full of ordinary people.

Could there really be piles of wizard gold buried miles beneath them? Were there really shops that sold spell books and broomsticks? Might this not all be some huge joke that the Dursleys had cooked up?

If Harry and Ariana hadn't known that the Dursleys had no sense of humor, they might have thought so; yet somehow, even though everything Hagrid had told them so far was unbelievable, Harry and Ariana couldn't help trusting him.

"This is it," said Hagrid, coming to a halt, "the Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."

It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn't pointed it out, Harry and Ariana wouldn't have noticed it was there. The people hurrying by didn't glance at it.

Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all.

In fact, Harry had the most peculiar feeling that only he, Ariana, and Hagrid could see it. Before he could mention his, Hagrid had steered them inside.

For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut.

The low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. everyone seemed to know Hagrid; they waved and smiled at him, and the bartender reached for a glass, saying, "The usual, Hagrid?"

"Can't, Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," said Hagrid, clapping his great hands on Ariana and Harry's shoulders and making their knees buckle.

"Good Lord," said the bartender, peering at Harry and Ariana, "is this—can this be—?"

The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent.

"Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Harry Potter and Ariana Black…what an honor."

He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Harry and Ariana, and seized their hands, tears in his eyes.

"Welcome back, Mr. Potter, Miss Black, welcome back."

Harry and Ariana didn't know what to say. Everyone was looking at them. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out. Hagrid was beaming.

Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Harry and Ariana found themselves shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.

"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"So proud, Miss Black, I'm just so proud."

"Always wanted to shake your hand—I'm all of a flutter."

"Delighted, Mr. Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."

"I've seen you before!" said Harry, as Dedalus Diggle's top hat fell off in his excitement. "You bowed to me and Ariana once in a shop."

"They remember!" cried Dedalus Diggle, looking around at everyone. "Did you hear that? They remember me!"

Ariana and Harry shook hands again and again—Doris Crockford kept coming back for more.

A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching.

"Professor Quirrell!" said Hagrid. "Harry, Ariana, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

"P-P-Potter, B-Black," stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Harry and Ariana's hands, "c-can't t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you."

"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?"

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter, B-Black?" He laughed nervously. "You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." He looked terrified at the very thought.

But the others wouldn't let Professor Quirrell keep Harry and Ariana to himself. It took almost ten minutes to get away from them all. At last, Hagrid managed to make himself heard over the babble.

"Must get on—lots ter buy. Come on, Harry, Ariana."

Doris Crockford shook Harry and Ariana's hands one last time, and Hagrid led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.

Hagrid grinned at Harry and Ariana.

"Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' ter meet you—mind you, he's usually tremblin'."

"Is he always that nervous?" Ariana asked.

"Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin' outta books but then he took a year off ter get some firsthand experience.…They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o' trouble with a hag—never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject—now, where's me umbrella?"

Vampires? Hags? Harry and Ariana's heads were swimming. Hagrid, meanwhile, was counting bricks in the wall above the trash can.

"Three up…two across…" he muttered. "Right, stand back, Harry, Ariana."

He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella.

The brick he had couched quivered—it wriggled—in the middle, a small hole appeared—it grew wider and wider—a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome," said Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley."

He grinned at Harry and Ariana's amazement. They stepped through the archway. Harry looked quickly over his shoulder and saw the archway shrink instantly back into solid wall.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons—All Sizes—Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver—Self-Stirring—Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them.

"Yeah, you'll be needin' one," said Hagrid, "but we gotta get yer money first."

Harry wished he had about eight more eyes. He and Ariana turned their heads in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping.

A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're mad.…"

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium—Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy.

Several boys of about Harry and Ariana's age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it.

"Look," Harry heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand—fastest ever—"

There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry and Ariana had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon.…

"Gringotts," said Hagrid.

They had reached a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was—

"Yeah, that's a goblin," said Hagrid quietly as they walked up the white stone steps toward him.

The goblin was about a head shorter than Harry. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Harry and Ariana noticed, very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside.

Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

"Like I said, yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it," said Hagrid.

A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver door and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Hagrid, Ariana, and Harry made for the counter.

"Morning," said Hagrid to a free goblin. "We've come ter take some money outta Mr. Harry Potter's safe and Miss Ariana Black's safe."

"You have their keys, sir?"

"Got it here somewhere," said Hagrid, and he started emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of moldy dog biscuits over the goblin's book of numbers. The goblin wrinkled his nose. Harry and Ariana watched the goblin on their right weighing a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals.

"Got it," said Hagrid at last, holding up two tiny golden keys.

The goblin looked at it closely.

"That seems to be in order."

"An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. "It's about You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen."

The goblin read the letter carefully.

"Very well," he said, handing it back to Hagrid, "I will have someone take you down to the three vaults. Griphook!"

Griphook was yet another goblin. Once Hagrid had crammed all the dog biscuits back inside his pockets, he and Harry followed Griphook toward one of the doors leading off the hall.

"What's the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Harry asked.

"Can't tell yeh that," said Hagrid mysteriously. "Very secret. Hogwarts business. Dumbledore's trusted me. More'n my job's worth ter tell yeh that."

Griphook held the door open for them. Harry and Ariana, who had expected more marble, was surprised.

They were in a narrow stone passageway lite with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them. They climbed in—Hagrid with some difficulty—and were off.

At first they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Harry tried to remember, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Griphook wasn't steering.

Ariana and Harry's eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but they kept them wide open. Once, they thought they saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late—they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.

"I never know," Harry called to Hagrid over the noise of the cart, "what's the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?"

"Stalagmite's got an 'm' in it," said Hagrid. "An' don' ask me questions just now, I think I'm gonna be sick."

"I don't think that's right," Ariana said.

Hagrid did look very green, and when the cart stopped at last beside a small door in the passage, Hagrid got out and had to lean against the wall to stop his knees from trembling.

Griphook unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, Harry gasped. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze Knuts.

"All yours," smiled Hagrid.

All Harry's—it was incredible. The Dursleys couldn't have known about this or they'd have had it from him faster than blinking.

How often had they complained how much Harry and Ariana cost them to keep? And all the time there had been a small fortune belonging to him, buried deep under London.

Hagrid helped Harry pile some of it into a bag.

"The gold ones are Galleons," he explained. "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough. Right, that should be enough fer a couple o' terms, we'll keep the rest safe for yeh." He turned to Griphook. "Ariana's vault now, please, and can we go more slowly?"

"One speed only," said Griphook.

They entered Ariana's vault a little while later. Ariana's mouth dropped open when she saw the mountains of gold, and there were even various jewels.

Ariana got enough money for her supplies and for a little pocket money.

Then they headed for the last vault; vault seven hundred and thirteen.

They were going deeper now and gathering speed. The air became colder and colder as they hurtled round tight corners. They went rattling over an underground ravine, and Harry leaned over the side to try to see what was down at the dark bottom, but Ariana rolled her eyes and pulled him back by the scruff of his neck.

Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole.

"Stand back," said Griphook importantly. He stroked the door gently with one of his long fingers and it simply melted away.

"If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there," said Griphook.

"How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" Harry asked.

"About once every ten years," said Griphook with a rather nasty grin.

"You think I could get Dudley stuck in there?" Ariana asked Harry.

Something really extraordinary had to be inside this top security vault, Harry was sure, and when they leaned forward eagerly, expecting to see fabulous jewels at the very least—but at first he thought it was empty. Then he noticed a grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper lying on the floor. Hagrid picked it up and tucked it deep inside his coat. Harry longed to know what it was, but knew better than to ask. Ariana decided not to ask, even though her curiosity was growing more eager by the second.

"Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don't talk to me on the way back, it's best if I keep me mouth shut," said Hagrid.

* * *

One wild cart ride later they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts.

"Sweet air! How I missed you so," Ariana said, taking deep breaths.

"Might as well get yer uniforms," said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Harry, Ariana, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." He did still look a bit sick, so Harry and Ariana entered Madam Malkin's shop alone, feeling nervous.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.

"Hogwarts, dears?" she said, when Harry started to speak. "Got the lot here—another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.

"Hello," said the boy, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't' see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Harry was strongly reminded of Dudley. Ariana found this boy to be a spoiled brat, very much like Dudley, maybe even more.

"Have _you_ got your own broom?" the boy went on.

"No," said Harry.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," said Ariana, wondering what on earth Quidditch could be.

"_I_ do—Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No," said Harry, feeling more stupid by the minute.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been—imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Hopefully I won't be in the house you're going to be in," Ariana muttered to herself.

"Mmm," said Harry, wishing he could say something a bit more interesting.

"I say, look at that man!" said the boy suddenly, nodding toward the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and Ariana, and pointing at three large ice creams to show he couldn't come in.

"That's Hagrid," said Harry, pleased to know something the boy didn't. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," said the boy, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"No, he's not," Ariana said. She couldn't stand this boy, whoever he was.

"He's the gamekeeper," said Harry. He was liking the boy less and less every second.

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of _savage_—lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."

"No," Ariana said, trying to keep her temper in check.

"I think he's brilliant," said Harry coldly.

"_Do_ you?" said the boy, with a slight sneer. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead," said Harry shortly. He didn't feel much like going into the matter with this boy.

"My mom is dead and my dad is in prison," Ariana said, hoping for a change of subject.

"Oh, sorry," said the other, not sounding sorry at all. "But they were _our_ kind, weren't they?"

"What's that supposed to mean, exactly?" Ariana asked.

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean."

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"

But before Harry or Ariana could answer, Madam Malkin said, "That's you done, my dears," and Harry and Ariana, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to the boy, hopped down from the footstool.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the drawling boy.

Harry and Ariana were rather quiet as they ate the ice cream Hagrid bought them (chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts).

"What's up?" said Hagrid.

"Nothing," Harry lied. Ariana nodded in agreement. They stopped to buy parchment and quills. Harry and Ariana cheered up a bit when they found a bottle of ink that changed color as you wrote.

When they had left the shop, Harry said, "Hagrid, what's Quidditch?"

"Blimey, you two, I keep forgettin' how little yeh know—not knowin' about Quidditch!"

"Don't make us feel worse," Ariana said. They told Hagrid about the pale boy in Madam Malkin's.

"—and he said people from Muggle families shouldn't even be allowed in—"

"Yer not _from_ a Muggle family. If he'd known who yeh _were_—he's grown up knowin' yer name if his parents are wizardin' folk. Yow saw what everyone in the Leaky Cauldron was like when they saw yeh. Anyway, what does he know about it, some o' the best I ever saw were the only ones with magic in 'em in a long line o' Muggles—look at yer mum, Harry! Look what she had fer a sister!"

"A horse?" Ariana muttered.

"So what _is_ Quidditch?"

"It's our sport. Wizard sport. It's like—like soccer in the Muggle world—everyone follows Quidditch—played up in the air on broomsticks and there's four balls—sorta hard ter explain the rules."

"And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?" Ariana asked.

"School houses. There's four. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o' duffers, but—"

"I bet I'm in Hufflepuff," said Harry gloomily.

"Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin," said Hagrid darkly. "There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one."

"Vol-, sorry—You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?"

"Years an' years ago," said Hagrid.

Ariana noticed Hagrid glance over at her. What she saw was pity and sympathy, which only confused her more.

They bought Ariana and Harry's school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all.

Ariana, who loved to read all kinds of books that sparked her interest, was in heaven.

Even Dudley, who never read anything, would have been wild to get his hands on some of these.

Hagrid almost had to drag Harry away from _Curses and Countercurses (Bewitch You Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenge: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and Much, Much More)_ by Professor Vindictus Viridian.

"I was trying to find out how to curse Dudley."

"I'm not sayin' that's not a good idea, but yer not ter use magic in the Muggle world except in very special circumstances," said Hagrid. "An' anyway, yeh couldn' work any of them curses yet, yeh'll need a lot more study before yeh get ter that level."

"Besides, why do you need to curse Dudley when you have me?" Ariana said with a smirk.

Hagrid wouldn't let Harry buy a solid gold cauldron, either ("It says pewter on yer list"), but they got a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope.

Then they visited the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages.

Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, snarled claws hung from the ceiling.

While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of some basic potion ingredients for Harry and Ariana, Harry and Ariana examined silver unicorn hors at twenty-one Galleons each and minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop).

Outside the Apothecary, Hagrid checked Harry's list again.

"Just yer wand left—oh yeh, an' I still haven't got yeh two a birthday present."

Harry felt himself go red and Ariana's face was as red as her hair.

"My birthday was in the beginning of July—"

"You don't have to—"

"I know I don't have to. Tell yeh what, I'll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at—an' I don' like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'."

Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium, which had been dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes.

Harry now carried a large cage that held a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing.

Ariana carried a cage that took residence of a pure black owl with grey eyes.

They couldn't stop stammering their thanks, sounding just like Professor Quirrell.

"Don' mention it," said Hagrid gruffly. "Don' expect you've had a lotta presents from them Dursleys. Just Ollivanders left now—only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand."

A magic wand…this was what Harry and Ariana had been really looking forward to.

The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door red Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded cushion in the dusty window.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair was Hagrid sat on to wait.

Harry felt strangely as though he had entered a very strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

Ariana, too, had these feelings, though that just added on to her nerves and excitement.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harry and Ariana jumped. Hagrid must have jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off the spindly chair.

An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," said Harry and Ariana awkwardly.

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.

"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it—it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

Mr. Ollivander looked over at Ariana.

"And Ariana Black. You look exactly like your mother. A beautiful woman she was. Her wand was made of elm, a unicorn tail hair, twelve inches long. Your father, though, held possession of a wand made of oak, a dragon heartstring, fourteen inches. You have his eyes."

Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.

"And that's where…"

Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry and Ariana's foreheads with a long, white finger.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands…well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do.…"

He shook his head and then, to Ariana and Harry's relief, spotted Hagrid.

"Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again.…Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"

"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.

"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?" said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.

"Er—yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. "I've still got the pieces, though," he added brightly.

"But you don't _use_ them?" said Mr. Ollivander sharply.

"Oh, no, sir," said Hagrid quickly. Harry and Ariana noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke.

"Hmmm," said Mr. Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. "Well, no—Mr. Potter, Miss Black. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Er—well, we're both right-handed," said Harry.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. The very same happened to Ariana.

As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter and Miss Black. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Harry suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between Ariana's nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Miss Black. Try this one. Beech wood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches, nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."

Ariana gave the wand a wave, only to make a nearby mirror break.

"No, now you try."

Harry took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try—"

Ariana broke a potted plant this time.

Harry tried—but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.

"No, no—here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

Harry and Ariana tried. And tried. They had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Tricky customers, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere—I wonder, now—yes, why not—unusual combination—holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple. This one is elm and another phoenix feather, twelve inches, a very unusual pair."

Harry and Ariana took the wands. They felt a sudden warmth in their fingers. Harry raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls.

Ariana gave the wand in her hand a swish and, like Harry's, red and gold sparks flew out of the end.

Hagrid whooped and clapped and Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well…how curious…how very curious…"

He put Harry and Ariana's wands back into their boxes and wrapped them in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious…curious…"

"Sorry," said Harry," but _what's_ curious?"

Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand and the wand of Miss Black, gave another feather—just one other. It is very curious indeed hat you and Miss Black should be destined for these wands when their brother—why, their brother gave you those scars."

Harry and Ariana swallowed.

"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember.…I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter, Miss Black.…After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things—terrible, yes, but great."

Harry and Ariana shivered. Harry wasn't sure he liked Mr. Ollivander too much. They both paid seven gold Galleons for their wands, and Mr. Ollivander bowed them from his shop.

* * *

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Harry, Ariana, and Hagrid made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, back through the Leaky Cauldron, now empty.

Harry nor Ariana spoke at all as they walked down the road; they didn't even notice how much people were gawking at them on the Underground, laden as they were with all their funny-shaped packages, with the snowy owl asleep in its cage on Harry's lap and the black owl looking around at them from Ariana's lap.

Up another escalator out into Paddington station; Harry and Ariana only realized where they were when Hagrid tapped them on the shoulder.

"Got time fer a bite to eat before yer train leaves," he said.

He got Harry and Ariana a hamburger and they sat down on plastic seats to eat them. Harry kept looking around. Everything looked so strange, somehow.

"You all right, Harry, Ariana? Yer very quiet," said Hagrid.

Ariana and Harry weren't sure they could explain. Harry had just received the best birthday of his life—and yet—he chewed his hamburger, trying to find the words.

"Everyone thinks we're special," he said at last, knowing Ariana felt the same way. "All those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr. Ollivander…but we don't know anything about magic at all."

"How can they expect great things?" Ariana took over for Harry. "We're famous and we can't even remember what we're famous for."

"We don't know what happened when Vol-, sorry—I mean, the night my parents and Ariana's mom died."

Hagrid leaned across the table. Behind the wild beard and eyebrows he wore a very kind smile.

"Don' you worry, you two. You'll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginnings at Hogwarts, you'll be just fine. Just be yerself. I know it's hard. Yeh've been singled out, an' that's always hard. But yeh'll have a great time at Hogwarts—I did—still do, 'smatter of fact."

Hagrid helped Harry and Ariana on to the train that would take them back to the Dursleys, then handed them an envelope.

"Yer tickets fer Hogwarts," he said. "First o' September—King's Cross—it's all on yer tickets. Any problems with the Dursleys, send me a letter with one of yer owls, they'll know where to find me.…See yeh soon, Harry, Ariana."

The train pulled out of the station. They wanted to watch Hagrid until they were out of sight; they rose in their seats and pressed their noses against the window, but they blinked and Hagrid had gone.


	6. Author's Note

**Hey readers,**

**Sorry if you were hoping for another chapter, but I got a great idea for another story and I had to start it before I lost my inspiration.**

**So please read The Battle for Vestroia if you want and let me know what you think. It's going to be part of a new series I call The Dani Kuso series. I know, not very original.**

**I will try to update this story soon, but school's coming up in a few weeks and registration is coming up in about a week. So hopefully I'll update another chapter before school to please you all.**

**I'm sorry if I disappointed you. That was not my intentions.**

—**Gryffindorlover1597**


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